Video Games
by sharinat
Summary: A (likely ongoing) series of ficlets and drabbles by Shari, featuring Tony, McGee, & video games (and a lot of background Tony/Ziva). Can be read as part of the same universe, or as standalones if preferred - whatever floats your boat! (Angst and Fluff)
1. Video Games I: Explosions

_Season 11, pre-Tiva, gen, angst. Takes place post-Ziva's departure. Tony deals._

**Video Games I: Explosions**

On screen, Tony's avatar dies for the fifth time.

It wouldn't normally be a big deal: he's a recreational gamer, not an avid one like McGee, and so of course. It happens.

Except they've only been playing twenty minutes.

As Tony respawns, McGee holds an internal debate. When, within seconds, the newly spawned character is sent hurtling into dead air, he turns the console off and slides his gaze sideways to where Tony is sitting next to him. The other man's frame is held so tautly that, rather than sinking into the couch's overstuffed cushions, he very nearly hovers atop them. The television screen has gone black, but he continues to stare straight ahead, white-knuckled fingers frozen on the now useless controller.

"McGee," Tony says. His breath comes out loud and slightly ragged in the sudden silence.

"Tony, we don't have to play."

"McGee."

It's a request – demand, really – to resume their game, McGee knows. Except it's clear neither Tony's head nor his heart is in it. "We could start a movie, once the pizza gets here," he suggests instead. At that, Tony finally tears his eyes away from the blank TV. McGee pretends not to notice how they're underlined by deep bruises, their whites too bloodshot. He just adds, "Your choice?"

Right away, Tony says, "No. Movies give you too much time to think."

There's no response to that.

"I'd rather blow things up," he continues, turning his face away again.

McGee sighs, but takes the hint. He leans forward and hits the console's on-button.

"Does that mean you're going to start actually landing hits?" he asks as the game loads.

Tony's lips quirk upward into a grim facsimile of a smile. McGee decides to count it as a win.


	2. Video Games II: Congratulations

_Future, established Tiva, fluff. In which Tony can't stop jiggling his knee._

**Video Games II: Congratulations**

"Would you cut it out?" McGee exclaims, punching the pause button and twisting to face his friend.

"Argh, McGee!" Tony's voice sounds as exasperated as McGee feels. "I was just about to take the shot!" He gestures wildly at the television in emphasis.

"You've been jiggling your knee nonstop for the past hour. It's driving me crazy."

"What? No I haven't."

McGee looks pointedly at where Tony's leg is bouncing up and down, his socked heel never touching the ground. Tony follows his gaze.

At once, the leg – and the couch, for that matter – ceases its aggressive vibrations.

"Sorry."

"Never apologize," McGee tosses back automatically. "Just don't you dare start up again. I thought I was going to be seasick."

They resume playing. Despite his earlier alarm, Tony makes the goal that McGee had interrupted upon stopping the game. They high five, and if it's little dorky at least there's no one around to see it.

Then Tony says, just as the on-screen ref is about to blow his whistle, "So apparently I'm going to be a dad," and McGee, who's been playing goal, lets the other team send a puck sailing straight into the net. He knows his mouth is hanging open, but it takes him a moment to close it.

"I – that's how you -," he sputters. Tony watches him, eyes lit with an expression that's a little amused, a lot excited, and a tiny bit fragile. Abruptly remembering the knee jiggling, McGee reins in his surprise and says earnestly, "_Congratulations_." Lays a hand on Tony's shoulder. "You and Ziva are going to be great parents."


	3. Video Games III: Duties

_Future, established Tiva, kid fic, fluff. Adventures in babysitting, inspired by this tumblr post: post/61728511332/in-which-ziva-comes-home-to-find- her-husband#notes_

**Video Games III: Duties**

"Are you sure we shouldn't play something else?" McGee asks, eyeing the two-month-old cradled in Tony's lap. "I thought there were studies showing violent video games can… I don't know, desensitize children. Or something."

He motions at the baby, Jacob, with his free hand. The other loosely grasps his controller, thumb hovering over the button that will activate the console.

Tony frowns. From his reclined position he looks first to McGee, then lifts his head slightly off the cushioned back of his prized La-Z-Boy chair to gaze down at Jacob. Father and son are stomach-to-stomach, Tony's navy blue T-shirt steadily growing darker beneath where Jacob mouths at his own tiny fingers.

Turning back to McGee, who sighs pre-emptively upon seeing the amused expression on his face, Tony says, "You know, I think we're fine?"

With a roll of his eyes McGee hits the 'on' key. "Fine. I was just checking."

He's immensely satisfied as Tony's responding smirk soon morphs into a grimace - the feeling of the ever-widening wet patch on his chest must finally register.

Proving the theory right, Tony tells Jacob in a decisive tone, "You're cute, but very slobbery." He's begun rubbing gentle circles into the infant's back, though, so he obviously doesn't mind.

A few more moments pass in easy silence while they wait for the game to load. The menu appears and Tony shifts, intones, "Uh."

McGee raises his brows in question.

"Not that I share your paranoia in thinking Call of Duty will turn my kid into a raging sociopath or anything but…maybe we should at least mute it?"

McGee will forever deny the scale of his (admittedly, probably irrational) relief. "Sure," he says, and tries not to grab for the remote too eagerly. Because he can't resist pushing, he adds, "And this has nothing, whatsoever, to do with you feeling weird about the gunfire and screams?"

"Only to the extent that this is the time Ziva usually tries to put him down for a nap," Tony qualifies. "So don't think I'm enabling your over-protective godfather routine."

McGee freezes, barely restraining a cartoonish jaw drop. "I'm his godfather?"

"Well." Tony twirls his controller in a vague gesture. "Not officially, but. You know."

"Tony, I –"

"Stop it right there, McSoftie."

"But-"

"Ah, ah! No chick flick moments."

McGee squints. "Did you just quote Supernatural at me?"

"Did you just _recognize_ me quoting Supernatural at you?"

McGee casts about for something with which to defend himself, but comes up empty.

At a clear impasse, they subside into challenging stares as CoD's menu screen presides over the contest of wills.

"Does Ziva know you watch it?" McGee asks eventually, the burning query forcing him to break the standoff. "Do you watch it _together_?"

"Can it, Elf Lord. Start the game."

Capable of admitting defeat, he does.

…Of course, Tony being Tony, not fifteen minutes later the truce established by McGee's figurative white flag is proven to have been wholly one-sided.

"A little help?" McGee says for the third time. When still no aid is forthcoming, he glances at the other half of the split screen. The player isn't moving. _Typical_. "Tony, if this is about the Supernatural thing, seriously – consider it dropped, just get …."

A loud, rumbling intake of air interrupts and sends his head whipping to the left, startled. Part of him then promptly melts as he takes in the scene: Tony is passed out in the chair, body slack but for the palm splayed over Jacob's spine; the infant is also asleep, both fists clenched in his father's T-shirt, cheek resting over his heart. A smile blooms across McGee's face.

He leans in to take the controller out of the other man's lax grip before it can fall. Closer, Jacob's slumbering snuffles are clearly audible. They mirror Tony's adult-sized snores.

"M'Gee?"

"Go back to sleep, Tony," he hushes, setting the controller on the coffee table. After a second's thought, he places his controller beside it, and starts fishing for his smartphone so he can snap a photo.

It's his godfatherly duty.


	4. Video Games Extra: Ikea

_Companion to __Video Games III: Duties__. Ziva & Borin at Ikea while the Boys babysit. _

**Video Games Extra: Ikea **

When her phone trills yet again Ziva barely glances at it – just checks it dutifully and returns it to her bag.

Borin casts a dry expression at the device as it disappears from view. "Let me guess: DiNozzo?"

Ziva settles further into the futon on which they are currently lounged, ending up nearly swallowed by a pile of bright blue decorative cushions. "McGee this time."

"Oh? What's he want?" Without waiting for a response, Borin pats the _Beddinge _mattress and adds, "I like this, but I think the one in the display with the freaky lamp was more comfortable."

"The lamp that looked like an exploding sheep?"

"That's the one."

Ziva hums in contemplation. "Yes, I agree. It was firmer."

"Exactly." Borin thumps the futon once more for good measure, nods decisively, and hauls herself up to standing with a groan. "Next?"

"Next," Ziva agrees. She holds out a hand and Borin gives it helpful a tug.

They head across the aisle to another living room display, collapsing onto its red modular sofa with matching sighs.

"So, what did McGee want?" Borin reminds after a second.

"Oh, who knows," Ziva dismisses. "This is my break, and it is well deserved. I should be able to shop in peace."

Admittedly, they haven't been shopping so much as going from show room to show room, sitting or lying on the furniture for intervals of ten to fifteen minutes at a time, but regardless.

"It couldn't be important?"

Despite the doubtful eyebrow Ziva raises, concern flickers across her face and soon has her reaching for her phone.

"It is just a picture," she says upon opening the text. Her voice is coloured with annoyed relief. "Of course it is."

She tilts the screen so Borin can see the image of Tony, passed out in his La-Z-Boy chair with Jacob asleep on his chest. It's the ninth baby-centric photo she's received since leaving the house earlier that afternoon.

"Ugh," Borin intones, rolling her eyes heavenward. "They're worse than women."

"Tell me about it." Ziva re-locks her cell's screen and shakes her head in exasperation, though even as she does a wave of missing her family hits with a dull pang.

Apparently hearing something in Ziva's voice, Borin fixes her with a calculating stare. "C'mon," she says at length. "I'm starving. Time for meatballs."

The cafeteria is always their last stop on these habitual trips, and Ziva – who has started to wonder what other moments she's lost out on that McGee and Tony _haven't_ photographed – is grateful for the subtle out. "Deal."

Now that they're no longer stopping to test out furniture, they begin to make their way through Ikea's maze at a much faster clip. The scent of food is already a tangible presence in the air less than ten minutes later when Ziva pauses in the children's section to finger a set of crib sheets.

"Thinking of having another?" Borin asks.

Ziva releases the pink, rosebud-covered fabric. "Not anytime soon," she says, turning away. "I doubt our data plan could handle it."


End file.
